


bloom just for you

by aquaexplicit



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Season 4, Rimming, Scruffy!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 15:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15464484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquaexplicit/pseuds/aquaexplicit
Summary: “Sorry, I meant to shave. Got sort of caught up. I can go now - ”“Uh, no.” Cisco catches his fingers with both hands, curling them, tangling Harry in the slow spread of his smile. “No way. It’s a good look for you.”Harry scoffs. “You really have missed me.”





	bloom just for you

**Author's Note:**

> stars-n-spacee suggested scruffy harry then jlarinda bullied me into writing this :/

Twenty two hours. Harry has twenty two hours to finish this stupid gun before Cisco steps back into his life, angelic in blue and clad in pleather.

Not that Cisco will know if Harry hasn’t conquered the project - Cisco doesn’t even know Harry’s undertaken something so complicated. He’s been using baby blocks to rebuild his mind. Cisco won’t be expecting him to have taken such a leap forward. **  
**

He’s pushing himself, he knows. Not enough to break the skin around his nails and not enough to send his employees running. He’s been sleeping. Eating, even, and taking time for family dinner and team outings and Cisco kissing. So many of his scars healed over after Cisco put him back together; he can step away from the work without the need to dig his fingers back in gnaw his brain.

But he’s been working on this dumb heap of material for nearly a month, and if he doesn’t finish it, doesn’t see Cisco in awe of it, he’s going to break something. He’s managed not to whip any markers at actual people over the project. He’s not sure how much longer that’s going to last.

All he wants is to see Cisco hold a piece of technology he built with his own hands. His own brain. And he doesn’t want to wait.

He hasn’t shaved since Cisco’s last visit five days ago. He had barely changed out of the sweats Cisco left him in. Jesse did practically push him into the shower this morning. Even then, all he did was stand under the spray and frown at his pruning fingers, not bothering to do more than shampoo. When Jesse asked him if Cisco was into lumberjacks, Harry scowled.

She was right, of course. The scruff feels heavy on his skin. Itchy. He rubs his palms at his cheeks as he glares at his holographic blueprints. Cisco would hate the beard. Cisco is a sensualist, even though he wrinkles his nose when Harry says this out loud. Soft is rarely soft enough for Cisco’s tastes. He likes comfort, and warmth, and beauty. Everything he deserves, everything he is.

Harry absently scratches at the sharp hair of his chin. His hands are too distracted by the phantom of Cisco’s gentle to do anything useful with the parts in front of him. Sighing, he slides his glasses back on. There are still algorithms he has to run. He turns on his heel to pick up his tablet and has only a moment to watch the world wobble electric.

Cisco is early.

Fuck.

There’s barely a moment for Harry to run his fingers through his hair - and his stupid scratchy scruff - before Cisco is stepping into his workshop.

“Honey, I’m home.” Cisco grins as the breach gleams closed behind him. He must've vibed Harry to find him in his workshop. “Boss let me off early.”

Despite the panic switch that’s been tripped, Harry grins back. It’s nearly impossible not to bloom in the direct face of Cisco’s bright white smile.

They don’t run to each other, exactly. They gravitate, pulled by buzzing centers into each other with magnetic force. Cisco’s arms catch around the back of his neck as his own snake around Cisco’s waist, pulling Cisco close and up with the force of how much Harry has missed him. Harry presses his stubbled cheeks into Cisco’s hair. Inhales.

“You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. I thought your cousin’s birthday - ”

“There was a change of plans,” Cisco says against his neck. Harry suspects that translates into Cisco speak as his family was Too Much. Before Harry can ask, before he can think to divert Cisco from seeing the gun plans floating in the middle of the workspace, Cisco presses a kiss to the join of Harry’s neck and shoulder. It’s enough to break Harry's worry. “An emergency, really.”

Harry’s palms settle at the slope of Cisco’s waist, too distracted now by Cisco’s mouth and words to think about distractions. Cisco’s voice is smooth and he’s not in his suit. The emergency wasn’t meta related. It could’ve been family related. “What was the emergency?”

“I missed my mans.”

Harry thinks he should pick at the excuse more, but Cisco's edges are roughest when it comes to his family, and Harry is wary to tug at them. Instead he rocks back, pleased at the explanation anyway, and dips in for that first soft, sweet reunited kiss. Cisco always gives him the same one when they come back to each other.

When their mouths brush, Cisco pulls back. He stares at Harry. His eyebrows knot and rise.

“Woah. How did I not realize you were rocking the scruff?” Cisco’s tongue peeks between his lips.

Harry’s brain smash cuts to the heat of that tongue. He rubs the back of his neck, too warm and too sloven for Cisco’s fresh curls and sweet scented skin.

“Sorry, I meant to shave. Got sort of caught up. I can go now - ”

“Uh, no.” Cisco catches his fingers with both hands, tangling them, tangling Harry in the slow spread of his smile. “No way. It’s a good look for you.”

Harry scoffs. “You really have missed me.”

Cisco leans in, brushing his stone smooth cheek against Harry’s chin. “You look daddy as fuck right now.”

The press of cool skin against his facial hair is enough to make Harry hiss. He twitches away. “And that’s a thing I want to look like?”

“That is definitely a thing you want to look like,” Cisco answers. He follows Harry, undeterred, winding Harry’s touch to his hips as he presses into Harry’s shadow. “It looks so good. And it feels awesome.”

Harry distinctly recalls Cisco calling him a cranky cat less than two weeks ago. He’s going to flip the tease around, poke at Cisco for practically nuzzling his five o’clock shadow, when Cisco sighs. Harry’s pulse rolls under the warm breath. His thumbs sweep under Cisco’s t-shirt, follow the iridescent trails of bone he’s traced a hundred times before.

“It doesn’t sting?” Harry asks as Cisco’s lips brush his cheek. He’s always been told his facial hair burns, scrapes. But Cisco has never minded his rough scrapes before. Has never hesitated to hold his sharpness in smooth palms.

“It does.” Cisco pulls him into a kiss. Maybe Harry falls. He slips from Cisco’s mouth for a breath and Cisco smiles into his jaw. “But I like it.”

Harry gets more sugar spun skin under his palms. He has to breathe out, force himself not to let his fingertips sink into the grooves of Cisco’s ribs, not to let his hands take too much for too long. There’s something about how cool Cisco flows underneath him. Makes Harry’s hands too hungry to remain gentle.

“The scruff is a little rough. It feels good against my soft parts, though.”

Harry’s laugh stutters between them. He flexes his fingers, brushes them over the sweet spot near Cisco’s navel that always makes him squirm. Cisco squirms. 

“All you are is soft parts, Ramon.” Harry sighs and lets his touch dirft to Cisco’s lower back. He strokes the dip.

“Yeah?” Cisco peers up at him. His grin is shiny slick from Harry’s tongue. He leans in, noses along the needle spark of Harry’s beard. His voice is easy on Harry’s ear. “Where am I softest?”

The empty ache in Harry’s fingers scrambles, pushing at the curve of Cisco’s tailbone, pulling him flush. Cisco’s is already hot against Harry’s thigh. Harry would tease, but his own blood is pounding bruises in his muscles as it races to the ready. He curves his teeth around Cisco’s earlobe instead. In the time it takes Cisco to gasp, Harry slips his fingertips under the stupid tight of Cisco’s jeans and briefs. Cisco whispers his name in a dark chocolate tone as Harry works his touch over the slope of his ass.

“Here,” Harry tells him when the pads of his fingers brush between Cisco’s skin. “You’re softest here.”

Harry forgets the spin of the hologram and the messy mass of tech he desperately doesn’t want Cisco to see before it’s been fashioned into something substantial. His panic quiets under Cisco’s next kiss. His frustration eases into adrenaline when he rubs at Cisco with one finger and twists out a breathy moan. He isn’t sure who sighs it.

“Is this where you want to feel me?” Harry asks against Cisco’s mouth.

“Jesus, dude.” Cisco dips his head into the crook of Harry’s neck, laughing, surprised.

Harry’s surprised by his own words. His own wine drunk lust, filling the cold pit of irritation sinking in his chest. They haven’t even exchanged insults yet and Harry’s close to having Cisco squirming on his finger. It’s a little intense, even for them.

But Cisco is pressing into his touch and running his wet, open mouth over the scruff on Harry’s jaw and Harry’s head is thick with Cisco’s softness. He wants.

“Do you?” Harry asks again, impatient.

He drags his thirst along Cisco’s chin, jaw, until he can draw the burn of facial hair over Cisco’s collar. The shudder Cisco gives still makes no sense to Harry. He must look grey, messy. Not at all up to Cisco’s strict aesthetic standards. If Cisco says he likes it, groans under it, though, Harry isn’t going to waste time analyzing when he could be scraping Cisco’s skin raw.

Cisco spreads his legs, just a little wider. It would be almost imperceptible if Harry didn’t feel it against him. “Yeah, Harry. I do.”

Harry kisses him clumsy and fast as he walks - pushes - them both toward one of the tables. He could ask Cisco to breach them to Harry’s bed, big enough for Cisco to stretch out feast like in the middle, or to Harry’s shower, the scene of the last time Harry licked Cisco into a frenzy between steamed glass panels. He doesn’t. He realizes, as he slides his attention from the curve of Cisco’s ass to the fly of his jeans, that he wanted this. Day dreamed about enthralling Cisco with his design the way he used to, star struck Cisco so impressed that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands or awe off of Harry.

“Don’t be a tease,” Cisco warns against the sweep of Harry’s tongue on his jaw.

In response, Harry rubs their cheeks together, dragging the blade of his beard over Cisco’s trembling throat. Cisco whines then moans when Harry finally opens his jeans.

Harry generally starts with Cisco’s mouth - sucking and biting and holding Cisco’s jaw slack to lick him panting. As much as Harry has missed Cisco’s tongue as an aftertaste on his tongue, he can’t focus on their kiss. His brain is pounding dull and monorailed. He wants Cisco saying his name. He wants Cisco red and raw with it.

He slides his jaw over Cisco’s jaw, Cisco’s chest. His facial hair is thick and sharp enough to prick Cisco over his graphic t-shirt. Cisco arches into every needle stick. He groans into it, breathing wet and open mouthed, no pretenses. Cisco never pretends he doesn’t want Harry as much as he does.

Harry rewards him, as always. He rucks Cisco’s shirt up and thinks about telling Cisco to hold it, but Cisco’s fingers sink into his bedhead and he’d rather punch the wall than lose Cisco’s nails over his scalp. Instead he mouths over Cisco’s right nipple, flicking his tongue until Cisco laugh moans. He replaces his lips with his chin, scratching at Cisco’s chest until Cisco whimpers, sweet, and tugs at his hair, hard.

“Sore already, Ramon? Thought you liked the rough?”

“Fuck off,” Cisco pants, no heat. He pulls Harry into a kiss then directs his scruff to the other nipple. Harry catches the determined line of his mouth. It’s the prove himself scowl, always more adorable than intimidating, though Harry would never say so aloud. Harry retrieves the gauntlet with a smile and circles Cisco’s nipple with his whiskey whip.

Cisco takes it longer than Harry expected. When it’s too much, Cisco exhales the same sucker pop sound and pushes at Harry’s forehead. In a flurry Harry has his cardigan bunched on the ground, providing minimal cushion for his creaking knees, but it’s enough to ease his hurts as he sinks down. He scrapes over Cisco until he’s settled in front of the heavy outline of Cisco aching in his jeans.

Fingertips smooth over his cheeks. He slides his gaze over the sliver of belly shuddering where Cisco’s shirt has quite fallen back in place yet, up, into Cisco’s bitten black eyes. Without breaking contact, Harry tips his head forward, raising goosebumps and pink heat over Cisco’s stomach with his cheek.

“That - tickles.” Cisco bucks into the scrape then away from it. He’s not laughing the way he does when Harry flutters fingers over his ribs, under his arms. “Thought you were gonna let me feel you where I’m soft.”

“You’re soft here,” Harry murmurs against his belly button.

Cisco huffs, bratty, and affection drags Harry’s cheek to the gentle cut of his hip. Harry lingers until Cisco spills a gut wrenching groan.

“Harry, stop being a dick. I want - ”

“I know.” Harry licks over the color he rubbed into Cisco’s skin. “Turn around.”

Harry leans back to watch Cisco listen. His tongue catches between his teeth as Cisco slides his elbows on the table, bending at the waist, curving knife like into Harry’s hunger. Harry peels Cisco’s jeans and underwear to his ankles.

Goosebumps rise over Cisco’s flesh as Harry exposes it to the workshop’s cool hum. For a moment, Harry merely breathes, taking in the smooth slope of skin, the strong spread of Cisco’s thighs, the oil paint obscenity of Cisco open and wanting. Harry presses his fingertips to the backs of Cisco’s knees.

Harry begins there. It’s difficult to angle the scrape of his scruff over the thin skin. Tilts Harry’s already stiff neck at an uncomfortable degree, but Cisco’s soft, shuddered Harry is enough to relax it. Harry’s palms skirt up Cisco’s legs until his hands spread over Cisco’s ass. There is a visceral appeal to the breadth of his fingers splayed over Cisco. The contrast of skin and frame. He feels stretched tall and strong and overwhelming against Cisco’s narrow bend.

Kneading Cisco with the pressure he knows Cisco likes, he tips his head forward, first over the back of Cisco’s thighs then between them. Cisco exhales sharp and slides his feet, blooming wider. Harry takes advantage of the flush spread. He settles, intoxicated by the warmth of Cisco’s legs shaking against his cheeks. Up and down, back and forth, he paints Cisco’s skin petal red and sore.

“That feels good,” Cisco groans, earth deep. His fingers fumble blindly. Finally they wind in Harry’s hair again. The pressure is gentle. There’s no guidance, no impatience, no whining. Cisco sighs.

It’s so fucking soft. Cisco’s skin, his sounds. Everything he gives to Harry, everything he lets Harry take. It tempts Harry. Sharpens him. His teeth feel dull behind his lips and he can’t help but turn to suck a bruise into firm thigh flesh. Even now, with half his violence quieted from the dark matter reversal, it takes concentration not to sink past Cisco’s skin to his muscle.

A slick pop echoes in the workshop when Harry pulls back. He doesn’t give Cisco a moment to adjust; he dives in, scratching Cisco with his cheek from thigh to the sweet slope of Cisco’s ass. Cisco practically mewls into the sensation, arching his back at a brain blurring, pushing into Harry’s touch.

“Still good? Not too much for you?” Harry mouths over Cisco’s skin.

Cisco doesn’t answer with words. Or maybe he does. Harry thinks he makes out a vague you wish over the want want want ringing in his ears. He presses a kiss to Cisco’s tailbone.

Painting Cisco’s ass with red and heat has been a quiet night fantasy of Harry’s for years. The opportunity to realize it has slipped through his fingers a few times, not that Harry would complain. It’s always good with Cisco. However their skin presses together is enough to make Harry keen and claw. But the chance to indulge, to pump electricity into the heart of his desire, has Harry dizzy and grateful for the solid ground beneath his knees.

Harry works his pine needle cheek from Cisco’s thigh to Cisco’s lower back. He scraps and scrapes until his face is buzzing, caught between throbbing itch and numbness. Part of him wishes he had directed Cisco to pull them through a breach. He wants to see Cisco poured on his back, drizzled slick with his knees by his ears, bared for Harry’s scruff and mouth and viewing pleasure. He wants to flick his gaze up and see Cisco’s cock, heavy and flushed at the head. He wants to watch Cisco twitch and blurt shiny slick with every drag of his beard.

Next time, Harry promises himself. After he makes Cisco spill sticky all over his workshop table and own stomach.

The thought has his own dick twitching. He can feel it, already full, aching in the easy spread of his sweat pants. He ignores it. Tells himself to focus on working Cisco into an open wound.

He admires the scratched pink of Cisco’s skin as he pulls back to sweep his thumbs over Cisco’s cheeks. Bites into one, just to hear Cisco hiss then moan, just to feel Cisco rock into his mouth. When he pulls back again, it’s to watch himself spread Cisco sweet. Cisco opens to him. For him.

Harry’s memory fades to one of the last times they were together. Cisco held himself blossom wide while Harry fingered him loose. Even with Cisco’s remarkable capability to stretch and twist and hold positions with shuddering tendons, Harry doesn’t think Cisco could achieve that now and still hold himself comfortably over the table. Harry will just have to do it for him.

Chin first, Harry eases into position, brushing tack sharp over the flash of Cisco’s balls. Cisco hisses and tilts away for the first time. Too much. Harry catalogs it before moving up, brushing his open mouth over Cisco’s ass before his tongue. It brings his scuffed jaw over Cisco’s hole.

“That - there. God. Just like that, Harry, yeah.”

The encouragement floods Harry’s stomach hot as much as it pisses him off. He wants to make Cisco feel good - wants to know that he does. But he also wants to drag Cisco so far over the edge of pleasure that Cisco doesn’t know his name, let alone how to praise Harry’s chemical coated tongue.

Luckily, Harry knows Cisco’s body well enough to know how to lick the words and composure out of Cisco’s throat.

He flattens his tongue to drag wet warm pleasure over Cisco. Starts at the flash of red flesh of Cisco’s testicles then slides up, slow, slow, then slower. The sound of Cisco’s shuddering fuck shakes his bones. Grinning, he repeats the move. Over and over, never increasing in speed, until his mouth and jaw are spit slick and Cisco’s skin is glistening under the light.

He delivers the next long, low lick with the barest increase of pressure. Cisco jolts into the linger of it.

Cisco rocks upwards. “More,” he pants. “More.”

Harry could deny him, but his own cock is drooling messy between his legs. He needs as much as Cisco does. As much as he enjoys teasing Cisco, he isn’t a fan of delayed satisfaction for himself. He gives in to Cisco’s breathless demand, pressing his tongue harder with each glide up then down.

His cheeks are itching. If Cisco wasn’t losing it under the scratch of beard, Harry would scratch it off. He eases the sting of it by clutching at Cisco with hungrier fingers, unfurling Cisco even wider, slipping the pads of his thumbs over Cisco’s hole. Cisco cries something. Harry can’t hear it. His own pulse shatters in his ears as he narrows his tongue to a weapon point before flicking it over Cisco’s softest skin.

Cisco’s fingers twist his hair. It burns the same way Harry’s face does. Harry is just as undeterred, unbothered, by the eye water sting. He tilts his head, giving himself leverage to suck then nip at Cisco where he’s most gentle.

“Can I fuck you?” Harry slurs, drunk and tongue number from Cisco’s taste.

“Dunno.” Cisco pulls his hair again. “Can you - oh. Harry.”

Harry’s tongue slips shallow and easy inside, fucking Cisco with only a breath of sloppy muscle. Cisco scrambles to push into it, get deeper and messier and more. Harry squeezes his ass, hard, his silent, greedy way of asking Cisco to let him glut himself now. Cisco’s hips stutter.

“Want to fuck you like this.” Harry punctuates it with another shallow stab of his tongue.

Cisco’s frustration spills out. His nails rake over Harry’s heated scalp and he slips himself wider, needy. “Then fuck me, Harry. Come on.”

Harry presses deeper. He licks in, out, pumping his tongue in a steady shock until he can slide even further into Cisco’s giving heat. Cisco tells him again how good it feels, his mouth, the bite of his beard, his hands. Harry fucks in slicker, faster, deeper. Cisco flutters and aches. He rocks up when Harry slips in.

The clench of Cisco against his mouth ignites phantom pressure around his dick. He can practically feel Cisco sliding just as messy wet and wanton in his lap. Light bursts in Harry’s head and he can’t help but slip one hand from Cisco’s ass under the waistband of his own pants. His fingers feel weak around his cock and he tugs loosely, thumb slipping over the wet already gathered at his slit.

“I need to come,” Cisco breathes. He squirms, trying to take even more, but Harry’s buried root deep already.

Harry groans heavy. Cisco swallows it. “No one’s stopping you.”

Cisco hisses. “I need you to make me come, jackwagon.”

“Hmm.” Harry pretends to consider it. He slips into selfish, working his own dick to the all encompassing taste of Cisco around his tongue. Few things sound sweeter than finishing himself off while he has Cisco squirming underneath him. He keeps fucking Cisco deep and dirty, keeps touching himself, keeps groaning in synch with Cisco’s groans.

“Harry, come on, jerk me off.”

Harry is a big enough man to admit when Cisco’s ideas are better than his. Now, anyway. With a lingering jolt of hurt, Harry releases his grip on himself. The angle of his wrist is awkward but the sound Cisco makes when Harry wraps his fingers around Cisco’s dick eases it. Harry holds him in a loose grip, soaking in Cisco’s frenzy. He pauses only to spit in his hand. When he grips Cisco again, Cisco curses.

Harry burns inside out as he unravels Cisco thread by thread. He stiffens his tongue numb and pulls back only to push back in, back inside. Using his neck instead of just his tongue allows him to move faster, more desperate. He doesn’t know which of them is moaning louder, cursing harsher, hungering for Cisco’s come more.

Both of them are keyed to the point of boiling by the time Cisco’s groans start sliding higher pitched. Harry tucks the sounds into his chest, memories for lonely quiet without Cisco in touching distance. He moves break jaw quick, needing more of Cisco’s whines, more of Cisco slurring his name. He could snap his neck under the pressure and speed and not really give a fuck as long as Cisco keeps fucking back into his mouth, keeps crying out for more.

A few more times, Harry has to pause to wet his palm and jack Cisco off in slick flicks of his wrist. It hurts like a physical thing to slip his tongue from Cisco’s ass, but the fever taste drenches him all over again each time he fucks back inside.

When Cisco finally comes, it’s with Harry’s name on his mouth. He shudders and shakes and aches through it. Harry continues to lick Cisco as he uncoils from the high. He keeps at it, still greedy, until Cisco has to push him away with a whine.

Harry slides himself, cheek to chest to knees, until he’s draped over Cisco draped over the table. Shock colors him weak when Cisco twists his head and runs his own tongue over Harry’s lips. Cisco rarely kisses him after Harry eats him sloppy and wide. Always makes a sweet, wrinkled face when Harry tries. But Cisco catches him in an open kiss that has Harry twisting to share his favorite taste.

He hurries to push his own sweatpants down. Pain fills his mouth at the loss when he breaks the kiss, but he has to raise his gaze, has to watch himself grip his dick and rub the head over Cisco’s hole. Cisco’s skin is raised and pink from Harry’s shadow and is slick from Harry’s mouth. The attention of Harry’s fingertips and tongue have left Cisco just loose enough for Harry to press against his ass.

Cisco chokes on a laugh. “Just the tip, huh.” Harry doesn’t understand the reference and doesn’t care. He’s too enraptured in the sight of Cisco sloppy slick, the sensation of his cockhead sliding against Cisco.

He should’ve stashed a tube of lube in the workshop. There are things he could use, he’s sure, but none of the sweet flavored slick that Cisco likes best. If he’s being honest with himself, which is something he does now, he doesn’t know how long he could enjoy fucking into Cisco’s sloppy licked ass. He’s close enough to shooting messy over Cisco as it is.

“Harry, let me - ”

Harry stretches to kiss whatever pretty offer Cisco is about to serve off his mouth. “Just like this,” Harry tells him.

Cisco lets Harry kiss him, fill his mouth the way Harry filled his ass, and Harry feeds him shuddering moan after shuddering moan. He pulls away again to watch himself slip and slide. Repeats the process until his head spins. Dizzy with the vision of Cisco, the sounds he makes, Harry grips himself in a too firm hold. He jerks himself off while Cisco pants.

When he comes, he soaks Cisco’s skin with it, ropes dripping over Cisco’s lower back and ass and hole. Harry nearly collapses in on himself, starlike, at the sight of it.

He feels shaky as he tries to pull his sweats back onto his hips. It takes a few tries before he can stand straight enough to settle. It takes even longer for Cisco to manage to push himself from the table and turn. He fixes his own pants while Harry tries to catch his breath and slow his heart from shaking.

After Cisco zips himself up, he stares at Harry. He looks tired. Drained of even the energy to smile, although he’s smiling dazed and dazzling.

Harry collapses back into Cisco’s orbit. He kisses Cisco, noting the frown on Cisco’s face with self satisfaction. Cisco slips from his mouth to nose against his cheek again.

“So.” Cisco grins breathless at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Harry grins back.

Cisco cups Harry’s cheeks in his hands, running his fingers over Harry’s facial hair. “That was - you should definitely keep the facial hair.”

“It itches,” Harry complains. Cisco makes a sympathetic noise and kisses his chin. Harry is going to tell Cisco to open the world for them, because his knees are shaking and his body is wrung dry and he needs to lay down with Cisco in his arms.

Before he can, he sees Cisco’s gaze roam over the slope of his shoulder. He sees Cisco’s eyes narrow, sees them spark light with something Harry can’t place.

“What’s that?” Cisco asks, wandering towards the blueprints still spinning next to Harry’s tablet.

Harry catches Cisco by the hand, pulling Cisco into his chest. “It's not important now." He kisses the top of Cisco's head. "Let's go home. You can catch me up. I'll show you all of that stuff tomorrow."

"Okay, Lumberwells. Let's go home."


End file.
